


of my own free will

by clarence_sage



Series: bored [3]
Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Gen, I Actually Don't Know What To Tag, Murder, Psychopath Holden Ford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 19:35:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20476373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarence_sage/pseuds/clarence_sage
Summary: “He was going to be the one in control of his own capture.”Holden decides to take matters into his own hands. The FBI on his trail, he decides to orchestrate a dramatic reveal.





	of my own free will

**Author's Note:**

> probably the worst part of this series yet, and I'm neutral to reveal that it will be the last.

Holden Ford was pleased to know and keep to himself that he now went by another name. The media had dubbed him the Cut-Throat Killer. He wasn’t all that pleased that somebody had managed to figure out that his kills were all the work of the same person. 

He knew he was going to get caught, one way or the other. He’d had to be careful, lately, because the case had moved passed the general authorities and been handed to the FBI. He was going to be caught. It was a matter of when, not if, so to say. 

Now, he’d gone over the options, and he’d decided that if he was getting caught, he was going out on his own damn terms. The other members of the criminal psychology team were worried about him. He was distracted. He was still feigning a worsening mental state. He was going out drinking a lot more. And not that they knew it, but he was killing with more frequency. Both his false and his true self were getting out of hand, in different ways. 

Now, he knew he was going to be caught. So he decided to take the matter into his own hands. He wouldn’t just be caught. He’d wrap himself up nice and snug with a bow on top. Not literally, of course. No. He was going to be the one in control of his own capture. 

He was going to kill someone. Again. But not like the others. He was going to kill someone in the office. 

Oh, sure, he could  _ run.  _ But then when Bill and Wendy connected the dots and figured out who he really was, he wouldn't be around to see their faces. And that was no fun. 

He told Gregg to stay behind. That he needed to talk to him. Gregg didn’t have much of a home life. Not much to do. He agreed. 

Wendy left. Bill left. 

When they were alone in the office and all the other employees had gone, Gregg asked Holden what they were doing there. “You wanted to, uh, to talk to me?” 

“No, not really,” Holden said. 

Gregg looked confused. 

So Holden clarified, “I want you to be my dramatic reveal.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Gregg said. 

“Of course you don’t,” Holden said, and promptly lifted the typewriter on the desk next to them, slamming it at full force into Gregg’s head. He didn’t want the other man dead yet, but he did want him unconscious. And this seemed to work to that effect. Gregg fell like a sack of potatoes, and Holden, though it took him a while and it was difficult dragging the guy all the way there, tied him to the chair in Bill’s old office at the back of the main room. 

He closed the door and waited for the cleaning lady to come by, and when she did he put on one of those smiles that made him seem sweet and endearing, and he told her: “I’m working late.” She let him stay in the building. 

As night came on, the place was overtaken by pressing silence. Silence he filled in by going on a destructive rampage through the offices, upturning desks and smashing equipment and throwing things at the walls and floor. 

He was also most likely slightly inebriated, because he noticed that he’d emptied the flask he’d taken to keeping in his breast pocket. But that didn't matter now. Because the whole point of this exercise was to get caught, so he didn't need his wits about him. 

All of this,  _ all of this,  _ was because he could. Gregg woke up in the early hours of the morning. He was talking to Holden, but he wasn’t listening. Holden didn’t care what Gregg had to say. He didn’t care about his sounds of confusion, of fear, of practical begging. It didn’t matter to him. 

Usually he cut their throats with them facing away from him, so he didn’t make a mess of his suit. Today wasn’t about care. It wasn’t about cleanliness. It was about  _ theatrics.  _ Holden was determined to make a mess, a real dramatic scene. He had Gregg facing him, staring into his eyes as he untied him, pulled him up, told him to hold damn still if he wanted to live. Gregg held still. Holden killed him. He wanted to be coated in blood, for maximum shock value. His shirt, his trousers, his shoes. He rubbed bloody hands over his face, saturated his hair with it. He looked like fucking Carrie. 

He propped Dead Gregg up on the chair and wheeled him into the main office. The corners of his mouth lifted up slightly as he thought about Bill and Wendy’s reaction coming in this morning. 

He passed the time with a bit more destruction. It was going to be a nightmare for someone to clean up. The minutes took their fucking time ticking down, hours passing and Holden growing more and more bored. 

When the door finally swung open, it was Bill Tench who entered the office first. He dropped his suitcase and Holden grinned, chuckled. 

After silence and a myriad of emotions flickering across his face, Bill asked Holden, “What’s happened?” He sounded disbelieving, distant. 

“Well I thought you’d already started to wonder,” Holden said. 

“Wonder what?” Bill asked. 

“Who the Cut-Throat Killer was. Congratulations. You caught me.” 

And then Wendy came in. And despite normally being so composed and unshakeable, she screamed. 

\---

It wasn’t all that bad in prison, if perhaps quite boring. 

One day they pulled him aside. Brought him to a familiar style of room. Cuffed him to a table. And then he was sitting across from Tench and Carr, tape recorder whirring between them. 

“We’d like to start off by assuring you that none of what we discuss today can be used against you in your applications for parole,” Bill said bitterly. 

Holden smiled wider than Bill had ever seen. It would have been sweet, endearing, if it weren't for the sheer gravity of the context. “You can skip this part,” he said. “I’ve heard it before.” 


End file.
